Offensive T-Shirt For The Bitch In Your Life
If you’re an American and you’ve traveled south of the border at anytime in your life, you may have heard the term “puta” being thrown around like pig skin on superbowl sunday. Hell, it’s quite possible that if you’re a jackass they was talking to you. You see Puta is Espanol for the American term bitch. So naturally, if you’re down in rocky point Mexico acting like a little bitch…. someone’s gonna call you puta. Now puta doesn’t have to mean something negative, round here I call my dog puta… it’s positive, and she’s positively my little bitch. Then you got other types a bitches, ones that are bad to the bone… ones that you just don’t call bitch or puta. It’s an interesting dynamic, ya’see… cause sometimes they refer to themselves as a “bad bitch” or “that bitch” but as soon as you try to refer to them as one they come’n for ya. My point here is that you gotta watch who you call’n a Puta, cause them mean ones will kick you in the pecker and shank ya with a broken bottle.
In fact, there was a time I was down there in Margaritaville listen’n to some Jimmy Buffett and drink’n me a Banquette Beer. I was down there with my Amigo Hans. Hans was a Norwegian feller who was whiter then an 8 ball a blow. We was down there get’n drunk as a skunk and and talk’n bout life, when Hans spotted himself a little Mexican Amiga stroll’n the beach. That Hans was a real sweet son’bitch but he looked like a damn Nazi, and he was scared to death to talk to girls….. so I took it upon my self to go get her name and offer her a drink. Now I ain’t the ugliest fella in the world, but I ain’t as sexy as that Danny Trejo either…. I’d say I’m about average. So I grabbed two coors out the ice chest and wondered on over to greet this Mexican Amiga.
Now, I’m not sure if it was my broken Mexican talk or her inability to understand anything Merican I spoke…. but like every relationship I been in, we just couldn’t communicate. I tried to offer her an ice cold beer but she acted like she was too good for coors, so I smiled large and I asked her name…..she gave me the middle finger!! Now I’m not sure what it means in Mexican but where I’m from and in sign language I think it’s a pretty rotten gesture.
So I turned and walked away from that one-way conversation just a little pissed off. I was just try’n to be nice and get this little Amigas name for Hans, but she was just a nasty little cunt. So I wondered on back to our beach furniture where Hans was waiting like a kid on Christmas morn’n… woulda thought I was Santa the way he was grin’n ear to ear. When he asked me for the senioritas name I replied “puta”.
Well, I shoulda known….. Hans jumped up faster then a rabbit in heat and took off down the beach before I could stop him. From a distance I observed what I would later take a little blame for.
Hans run’s up on his Mexican dream girl like a puppy want’n to play, and I’m guess’n what followed was his attempt to greet the young lady. However due to the distance between us I was unable to audibly process the dialogue but I’m guess’n it went something like this. “hello puta”, the next thing I see is Hans get’n his coors bottle broken over his head, kicked in the pecker, and shanked in the rib cage.
Needless to say, that trip ended a little early.
I share this story today to fill you in on the origins of this fine garment. Miss Amiga… if you’re out there and you’re reading this story… this shirts for you, this shirt was made with your face in mind. I’m raising my beer in the air…. this one’s for you Puta…. this ones for you!